Star Wars: Dark Skies Over Kalaador
by Hannibal4209
Summary: A tale of new Rebel Heroes and new Imperial Villains...
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER This is entirely a work of fiction, and the author does NOT intend in anyway to infringe on the copyrights set down by Lucasfilm, Twentieth Century Fox, or anyone else even remotely associated with Star Wars. I am incredibly poor.please don't sue me cause you'd never see any money. Hard to get blood from an Adegan crystal.or something.  
  
STAR WARS: DARK SKIES OVER KALAADOR  
by Shawn M. Franklin  
  
It has been seven months since Luke Skywalker and the  
Rebellion were successful in destroying the Death Star. The  
celebration on the moon of Yavin 4 was short-lived, as the  
Imperial Fleet's rebtributive strike drove the Rebels from  
their hidden base, and scattered its members across the four  
corners of the Galaxy.  
  
With the word of the Imperial defeat at Yavin spreading  
across the Galactic Empire, the Rebellion's ranks have  
swelled. Hope, hope that the Imperial war machine can, in  
fact, be stopped has given many who were at first afraid to  
assist the Rebellion have now declared themselves allies of  
the small band of freedom fighters.  
  
Emperor Palpatine, infuriated with the loss of his prized  
battle station, Grand Moff Tarkin, and the Doctrine of Fear  
in disarray, has given his servant, Darth Vader, all  
available resources to cleanse the Rebellion from the galaxy.  
To that end, Lord Vader has dispatched one of his Dark Jedi  
disciples to the Mid Rim world of Kalaador. 


	2. A New World Order

CHAPTER 1: A New World Order  
  
Kalaador. The Crown Jewel of the Mid Rim. The mention of its very name evokes the visions of its splendor. A planet rich in resources, culture, and its share of history, Kalaador was said in the same breath as planets like Coruscant, Corellia, and lost Alderaan. But what is most striking about the planet was not its towering crystal spires, nor its warm, amicable people. No what separated Kalaador from the rest of the Empire was that of its relative autonomy.  
  
When the Republic crumbled into dust, the ruler of Kalaador at that time, King Silas XVI, had negotiated with the soon to become Emperor Palaptine to secure a measure of independence from Imperial rule. This contract was one that Palpatine agreed to with one condition; Should the Empire ever need Kalaador for any reason, she would answer the call without fail.  
  
Under these conditions, did Silas agree. Little did he know that only a few decades would go by before the Empire exercised its condition.  
  
* * *  
  
Loud, echoing footsteps resonated down the halls of the Royal home, the Crystal Palace. They belonged to not one person, but two. King Silas XVII wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow as he hurried down one of the Palace's many corridors. The small, balding king's mind was usually on affairs of state or planning the next planetwide festival, but today, his mind was solely on the imminent arrival of what the comminque had described as, "an Imperial Emissary".  
  
An Imperial hasn't been on Kalaador in, my goodness, fifty years, he thought as his journey carried him onward to the landing platform of the Crystal Palace. Suddenly his panicked train of thought was derailed by the sound of his daughter impatiently clicking her tongue.  
  
"Daddy, why do I have to deal with some stupid foreign dignitary? I could be out riding my golura right now. Can't you handle this on your own?", she said.  
  
Raa'chel Kalaador was the king's only daughter. Slender and athletic, with wavy blond hair that caught the early morning light from Kal, the system's only sun. Wearing royal vestments of bright lavender, she could have easily outstripped any other girl's beauty for five solar systems. Her soft brown eyes flashed with the light of innocence. She carried an air about her, however, of haughtiness and arrogance. Aside from that drawback, she was almost flawless. The only other detriment to her calm beauty was that her face was currently contorted in a mask of digust.  
  
Silas sighed. He'd had this conversation twice today already.  
  
"I explained this to you over breakfast, my dear," he spoke in a strained voice, "An emissary of the Empire is one who carries the will of the Emperor himself with him. All members of the Royal Family must greet the diplomat with a show of goodwill-"  
  
"I know this already, Daddy, but that still doesn't explain why we're even bothering! The Empire has no jurisdiction here. Whatever this emissary has to say for that slug, Palpatine can-"  
  
Silas immediately whirled on his daughter, his face shining with sweat and worry. "Whatever your opinions of Palpatine are, you will keep them to yourself while his emissary is here! It is with Palpatine's good graces that you and I are not living under the whims of a territorial governor!" He calmed himself and said, slowly, "I know you don't care for the Empire. I also know why, but that does not mean that you will act less than your station. You will act like a proper princess in the emissary's presence. Do I make myself clear, Raa'chel?"  
  
Raa'chel sighed herself. Acting like a proper princess was something she did only when it would make her father happy for a few minutes. "As clear as the crystal on my brooch, Father."  
  
"Good. Now, the emissary awaits. Come."  
  
With that, they resumed their course toward a life-altering meeting.  
  
* * *  
  
The copliot fidgeted nervously in his chair for the third time since touching down. The pilot of the Imperial shuttle Epsilon shared those same feelings of agitation. It had been a solid ten minutes since the shuttle had landed on the platform adjacent to the Crystal Palace, and five minutes since the Royal Family had appeared at docking level doors. The whole of the palace seemed very distant from the conditions inside the shuttle, as if the shuttle itself was merely watching the passing of Kalaador's time on a holoprojector.  
  
Finally, the copilot spoke, "Sir?"  
  
The pilot started suddenly, and looked at his companion as if just now seeing him. Finally he replied, "What is it, Ensign?"  
  
"Is he going to disembark? The Royal Family is looking impatient."  
  
A cold, hollow voice emanated from the rear of the ship's cabin.  
  
"Let them wait."  
  
The pilots looked back into the ship's cabin, staring into the inky darkness that seemed to envelop the cabin in an almost unnatural manner. It was considerably colder back there. The pilot then seemed to find his courage. "Yes, My Lord. My subordinate meant no disrespect. H-he-"  
  
Once again the voice came. "I do not care about your excuses for your underlings, Captain. The Royal Family is inconsequential. They. Will. Wait. Or do I need to make a better statement?"  
  
The pilot blanched. He knew what one of Lord Vader's minions were capable of. Quickly, he stammered, "Uh, no! No sir! We await your direction, sir!" The copilot immediately chimed in, "At your command, sir!"  
  
"Good," came the voice, "Now, wait, and I will give you instruction."  
  
* * *  
  
In the rear of the shuttle, a shape moved about the darkness. In the thin light that fought its way inside the palpable ink of the rear cabin, it could be seen as the shape of a man. Thin and supple, he wore a cloak of the deepest bloodred. This cloak was draped about a set of leather combat armor that seemed to be alive, like a second skin. The gauntled hands moved down to a small gunmetal case lying on the nearby counter. He unlocked the clasp, and lifted the lid.  
  
Inside the case, there was a red satin lining. The Imperial Emblem, a black octagon with inner spokes, was sewn into the lining. There lay one object. Cylindrical and black, like the case, with three wicked barbs on the end, shaped as a hilt. It was the weapon of a Jedi Knight, though no Jedi crafted this weapon. It was a lightsaber.  
  
The gloved hands of the wiry man caressed the lightsaber, as if holding a priceless treasure. And indeed, he was. Lightsabers were extremely rare. Bringing the hilt close to his face, he ignited the blade.  
  
The lightsaber leapt forth with a blazing red light. A deep red hue pushed back the darkness of the cabin and illuminated the man's face. Long, black hair, tied at the base of the neck. Skin, sallow and corpselike. But what was most striking was his eyes. One, bright blue, like ice. The other, milky white and without irises. Dominating the right side of his face, a jagged scar, blackened and cauterized. The scar ran from his lower jar, across his white eye and finally disappearing under his black hair.  
  
He sighed contentedly as he gazed upon his weapon. After a long moment, he spoke.  
  
"Open the doors. They have waited long enough."  
  
* * *  
  
"What is taking so long?!"  
  
If there was one thing Raa'chel Kalaador hated, it was waiting. Normally, many people waited on her. Having the roles reversed was something that the Princess did not enjoy. Silas, however, continued to pale as they both stood on the docking platform.  
  
"C'mon! Let's get this over-" Raa'chel was suddenly cut off by the sound of the shuttle's gangplank extending toward the deck. Down this ramp came a pair of black boots, which belonged to, in Raa'chel's opinion, the ugliest man she'd ever laid eyes on. Her eyes ran the length of his gaunt appearance, and she silently laughed to herself about how funny it would be if someone as frail looking as him were to be blown off the platform by one Kalaador's sudden wind shifts.  
  
Her internal laughter ceased abrubtly when she looked into his eyes. They were cold, unblinking. The eyes of someone who was more fearsome than he appeared.  
  
Silas, smiling warmly (yet nervously), extended his hand in greeting. "Greetings to you, Emissary of his Imperial Majesty-"  
  
The gaunt man ignored Silas and walked past him and his daughter, on into the palace itself.  
  
Silas stopped, looked to his daughter, and seeing her own indignant expression, followed hurriedly after the man in black. Soon, Silas had caught up with him and continued his speech. "We did not hear your name, good sir."  
  
The man in black kept walking at a marching pace. "That is because I did not tell it to you. I am Sabre Von Rubin, and you may end your pleasantries, Kalaador. I am here to annex your planet into the Galactic Empire."  
  
At this revelation, there was a short beat, and then both Silas and Raa'chel erupted in confused shouts, all dignity forgotten. "WHAT?!" "This cannot be! Surely, there has been-"  
  
Sabre's cold voice carried above the both of them. "There is NO mistake. You are aware of the Rebellion, Your Majesty?"  
  
"Yes, but I-", Silas stammered.  
  
"You are also aware of several Mid Rim worlds joining the Rebellion now that the Death Star has been destroyed?", Sabre continued.  
  
"Well, yes, but Kalaador has never-"  
  
"It does NOT matter if you have or not. Need I remind you that your father signed an agreement with my Emperor, pledging Kalaador's 'unyielding loyalty', if the Empire had need of it? Well, that time has come. Kalaador is to be the base of operations for Imperial troops in this sector. The contract is binding, Kalaador. You have no-"  
  
It was Sabre's turn to be inteurrpted, but not by a voice. From the left of Silas came a hard, firm slap to Sabre's face. Sabre turned, slowly, as though dumbstruck that someone would dare to hit him. His eyes settled on the furied face of Raa'chel Kalaador. She was breathing shallowly.  
  
"How DARE you!!! You come to our planet, disrespect my father, and expect us to kowtow to your deman-" It was then that Raa'chel felt the glove of Sabre's right fist clench onto her throat. Before she knew it, she was lifted into the air, choking and gasping. Sabre's twisted smile gazed up at her struggling form.  
  
"How dare I? I'll tell you how I dare, child! I am one of Lord Vader's faithful! One of the Emperor's Hands! I am Sabre Von Rubin, and I DO WHAT I WISH!!!" he bellowed.  
  
Raa'chel was beginning to turn blue. Silas rushed forward and threw himself to his knees. "NO, PLEASE! Release my daughter, we'll do anything you want! Anything! Mercy!"  
  
Sabre's voice came as a dry whisper as his vice-like grip tightened further around the Princess' neck. "Beg me to let you serve the Empire."  
  
"Yes anything! I beg you, let us serve! Let her go, you're killing her!" Silas cried.  
  
Sabre chuckled maliciously and dropped Raa'chel to the floor. He pointed a gloved finger at the pair of once regal family members and spoke, slowly. "This planet is now, mine. Any more insubordination by your citzenry will result in my bomabardment order being given to my Star Destroyer, Iron Hand. This lovely palace will be last, so you may listen to your subjects' death screams!"  
  
Silas cradled his coughing daughter in his arms. Her color was just now returning. Sobbing, Silas nodded his head, slowly. "We will comply. Lord Von Rubin, I give you full control of Kalaador."  
  
"Good. Very good. Now, where is the throne room?" 


	3. The Occupation

CHAPTER 2: The Occupation  
  
Three months had passed since Sabre Von Rubin had taken control of Kalaador, and the face of the planet had changed. The major metropolis of Kaldonia had been changed into a military camp, where beleaguered stormtroopers took out their post-raid aggression on the local townsfolk. The Crystal Palace itself had been altered as well, for now it served as Von Rubin's personal headquarters. The crystalline spires of the Royal home were now replaced with tall, tritanium gun turrets and guard towers all emblazoned with the Imperial symbol. Even the people of Kalaador changed with their homeworld. Where once a happy, vibrant community thrived, now in its place, there was despair and a palpable gloom.  
  
However, one of the few places that had remained the same was the Glass Forest. This place was a sanctuary, a protected land according to the letter of Kalaador law. Von Rubin had left this one place alone in order to "foster goodwill" with the townsfolk. In other words, he didn't want them to have any more reason to rebel than they already had.  
  
This sanctuary was the one place Raa'chel Kalaador could come to escape Von Rubin's tyranny. More than anything or anyone else on the planet, Raa'chel had changed the most. No longer was she able to enjoy the station of her past. She was little more than a figurehead now; Von Rubin held all the power. She seemed considerably diminshed, not near as arrogant.  
  
She hadn't been this depressed since her mother's death. She sat, perched on one of the crystal formations on the Glass Forest, immersed in silent reverie. Nothing in her life made any sense now. Her father had lost all power (and all backbone, it seemed), she had to answer to a man she loathed. Von Rubin sickened her. He seemed to revel in all the chaos he was causing. He never failed to pass a cruel smile her way whenever their paths crossed in the Palace.  
  
She cast her gaze upward, fighting back her tears. Overhead flew a formation of TIE fighters on combat practice. "Funny," she thought, "even the sky is mocking me." But there was hope. That hope was contained in the small backpack she had slung over shoulder. In it, she packed everything she thought she would need. Imperial credits, changes of clothes, and just in case, a small holdout blaster.  
  
All these things she would need, for today, she was going to escape Kalaador to find this "Rebellion." She was sure they'd help her get her planet back. They had to; she was, after all, a princess.  
  
"Princess? Princess, come out here at once!"  
  
Raa'chel rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "Go away, Uncle," she called.  
  
"Uncle" was the name of the Princess' nanny-droid, U-3PO. A purple-chrome protocol droid, he had been programmed since Raa'chel's birth to instruct her in the ways of being a princess. Unfortunately, his attitude toward her had not been updated. Indeed, he still treated her like she was only five years old.  
  
"You do not speak to me that way, young lady! Now, come down from that rock. You're getting filthy!" he exclaimed.  
  
Raa'chel grabbed her pack and slid down from the rock. She took a few steps toward the flustered droid and said, "Sorry Uncle, I just needed some time to myself."  
  
"Well you could have done that in your room, my dear. Lord Von Rubin has been looking for you." Uncle said.  
  
Raa'chel scoffed. "So? I don't care if he's been tearing the castle apart hunting for me! I want nothing to do with that hideous creature who's controlling my home!"  
  
Uncle gasped. Or at least, he did what passed for gasping; he was a droid after all. "You should not speak that way about our guest! You would do well to remember that he is a dignitary, and according to Kalaador protocol-"  
  
"Protocol?!?" Raa'chel had heard enough. "Protocol has gone completely out the window, Uncle! He's not our guest, he's a tyrant! A-a usurper! He's stolen our throne!"  
  
"Stop that at once, young lady! You will treat the Imperial dignitary with respect this instant! Now come, Lord Von Rubin is looking for you!" With that, Uncle turned and started back toward that Crystal Palace.  
  
"No."  
  
Uncle was sure his auditory circuit had failed. She couldn't have just said that. Turning back to the princess, who was slinging her pack back over her shoulder, he said "What did you just say?"  
  
Raa'chel's face was set. She repeated, "No. I'm leaving to find help." She then turned in the direction of Kaldonia and started to walk away. She was going to contact the Rebellion, one way or another. Uncle stood and watched her walk away, frozen with shock. He could not believe it; she was not listening to him.  
  
"You come back here at once!" he called as loud as his voice modulator would allow. Princess Raa'chel continued to walk away from the droid, away from the only life she'd ever known. "Princess! Come back!"  
  
Raa'chel kept walking, tears rolling down her cheeks.  
  
* * *  
  
Sabre was sure his head was going to explode.  
  
"I did what you asked, my Lord, I tried to bring her back to the palace, but she would not listen. I said, 'You must respect Lord Von Rubin's wishes', but she was adamant about leaving! I have never, in all my years, seen her-"  
  
"SILENCE!!!"  
  
Sabre couldn't take the droid's whining any longer. He steadied himself, massaging his temples. He had failed Lord Vader, and he knew it. The Princess was going to seek out the Rebellion, he was sure of it. And since the Rebels wouldn't dare establish a base under his nose, that meant she was heading for Kaldonia to find a pilot to get her past his Star Destroyer.  
  
Sabre did not share the opinions of the Imperial Advisors, fools that they were. To think that the Rebellion was too weak and unorganized to defeat the Empire was folly. If the Rebellion could destroy the Emperor's prized battle station, and escape the combined might of the Imperial Fleet, they surely needed reevaulation. Sabre did not fear the Rebellion himself, he had the Force after all. But acoording to Lord Vader, so did the Rebellion. Someone called Skywalker destroyed the Death Star. But he served the Light Side of the Force. Weak. Powerless to crush the might of the Dark Side.  
  
Still, Sabre knew that the Iron Hand would not stand long against a Rebellion strike. They had more military capacity than the Imperial Fleet was willing to admit. He had to report this change in situation to Lord Vader. But first things first.  
  
"So, after she made her intentions clear to you, droid, you let her escape?" Sabre said, trying to harness his anger.  
  
Uncle felt his nervousness program go online. If droids could quake with fear, he certainly would be right now. "Well, my Lord, as I-I explained. She-she wanted to find help, there was nothing I could have done. Forgive me, sir," he stammered.  
  
Sabre stood up, a curious smile on his face. He looked over to the nearest stormtrooper. Finally, keeping his gaze on the stormtrooper's weapon, he spoke to Uncle. "I see. Well, then I see no other alternative. You have allowed the princess to escape, and have therefore, betrayed me."  
  
Uncle took a step back. "No! I tried to-"  
  
In an instant, Sabre shot out his hand and the stormtrooper's blaster leapt from its owner, and flew into Sabre's outstretched palm. He quickly turned the weapon on Uncle, and in a hail of blaster fire, he disintegrated the droid where he stood.  
  
Sighing, he beckoned the stormtrooper over. The trooper marched to his superior and said, "Sir?"  
  
"Make contact with the Executor. Lord Vader's personal channel. Then, alert the garrison in Kaldonia to be on watch for the Princess. Orders are to capture. No disintegrations. I want her alive," Sabre ordered.  
  
"Yes sir!" The stormtrooper hurried off to make the arrangements.  
  
Sabre then said, "And, Sargeant?"  
  
The trooper turned back to him. "Something else, my Lord.?"  
  
Sabre looked to the pile of burning, purple-chrome slag that was smoking up the throne room. "Have someone clean that up."  
  
+ * * *  
  
Sabre approached the holoprojector room. He took a deep steadying breath. Lord Vader did not like hearing about failure. The last time that Sabre had failed Darth Vader, he was nearly asphyxiated by Vader's Force grip. Sabre automatically massaged his throat and entered the room.  
  
Sabre crossed the room, removing his cloak. In moments, he had knelt down on the transmitter pad. A moment later, the holoprojector had activated. The ghastly visage of Lord Vader's respirator mask had filled the room, and it seemed to make Sabre even smaller and more diminished. The sound of Vader's mechanically-regulated breathing resonated in Sabre's ears like a thousand angry ghosts. He did not sound happy.  
  
"Report, my disciple," came the low voice of Darth Vader.  
  
"There has been a setback," Sabre began. "Raa'chel Kalaador has escaped, my Lord. She has intentions of finding the Rebellion. My troops are already on their way to capture her and return-" Sabre felt his throat constrict. Vader was crushing his larynx with the Force, even across light-years.  
  
"I have told you the price of failure, Sabre. I do not tolerate failure," Vader said calmly.  
  
Sabre began to choke. He felt blood rising in his throat as his windpipe closed off. "Please-my Lord-mercy," he croaked out.  
  
Instantly, his throat relaxed. Sabre collapsed to the transmitter pad, clutching his throat.  
  
Vader said sharply, "Get off your hands. I do not tolerate weakness, either, Von Rubin."  
  
Sabre focused his rage and his loathing for Vader into a useful form. He felt the Dark Side of the Force feed off his anger and humiliation at being weak in front of his master. He focused that energy into a strengthening power. He lifted himself off his hands and faced Vader again.  
  
Vader's visage loomed in closer to Sabre's face. "Find the Princess. Do not fail me again."  
  
With that, Vader disappeared. The communication line was closed. Sabre stood, albeit slowly, and traced the scar that ran his face. He would kill Vader someday, he knew that, but for now, he would carry out his master's orders. And as for the Princess, she would suffer dearly for this insult. 


	4. Ashes to Ashes

CHAPTER 3: Ashes to Ashes  
  
Raa'chel stepped into the outskirts of Kaldonia. She had only ever been to Kalaador's only starport once before. Then, she was only six years old, and that had been as part of a royal motorcade. At that time, she was surrounded by several bodyguards and the people were cheering for her family's continued reign. That seemed like a point outside of history now.  
  
Now, she looked upon the city. It looked as if it had gone thru the mill. The people were different from that parade day. Whereas they were happy and cheerful, now there remained a dead husk of a city. All around her were the walking wounded and the living dead. She seemed terribly out of place, there in her royal vestments of lavender and bronze. Everywhere she looked, the same person appeared, just with a different face. Downcast. Beaten. Drab.  
  
Raa'chel lowered her head for a moment. She was saddened at the sight of her people looking so defeated. She raised her head back up, her resolve to save Kalaador stiffened. It was fortunate that she looked up just then, for coming down the lane were a squad of Imperial stormtroopers.  
  
Raa'chel looked around for a hiding spot. Quickly, she ducked into a nearby alley and crouched low behind some plasteel boxes. The troopers drew near, a breath away from her hiding spot. If she wished, she could have reached out and touched one of the white-armored soldiers. And then, she would be very dead.  
  
They were speaking to one another in a militaristic tongue. "Lord Von Rubin's orders were very specific, trooper. Alive."  
  
One of the other faceless troopers answered his superior, "Yessir! But what if she resists?"  
  
"She won't. This girl is a royal princess, unsuited to combat. If she's smart, she'll come willingly. And if not? Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that. I'm sure our Lord would be very upset if we brought back a corpse. So that means, stunning bolts only! Understood?"  
  
All of the others chimed in, "Crystal, sir!"  
  
With that they continued walking down the street, away from their quarry.  
  
Raa'chel emerged from her hiding place and watched the troopers go. "So I'm to be taken alive," she thought, "Not a chance." She turned to head in the opposite direction and ran straight into someone.  
  
Raa'chel fell down onto her royal posterior. Quickly, without thinking, she blurted out, "Do watch where you're going! Don't you recognize-!" She quickly shut her mouth. She was supposed to be incognito, and yelling that she was the princess to the whole street would be a very bad idea."  
  
The man whom she'd ran into extended a gloved hand to help her up. "Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't see ya there." He was a large man, especially around the middle. Filthy too, covered from head to toe in axle grease. Raa'chel took his hand and allowed herself to be lifted up. She took one look at him and was immediately struck with the sudden thought, "A pilot?"  
  
She brushed herself off, her anger at being knocked over forgotten in light of the possibility that this man was the very thing she was looking for. Namely, passage off the planet. "The fault was mine," she said, "Forgive me, but are you by any chance a pilot?"  
  
The large man was staring at Raa'chel. She wasn't sure she liked the look. She was about to ask what he was looking at when he quickly said, "Er, Yea! I'm a pilot, alright. Call me Ratchet. You need help, Miss-?"  
  
He was aking her name. Thinking for a moment she said, "Marina." Marina was her mother's name.  
  
"Marina. Pretty name." He looked at her for a moment again. Raa'chel was right, she didn't like that look. "Pretty girl, too," he continued, "Let's, uh, let's go discuss business."  
  
Raa'chel hesitated. She was liking the man less by the minute. But still, he was a pilot. "Very well." Ratchet then motioned to her and she followed him down the street. Raa'chel had suddenly wished that she had invested in some different clothes and perhaps a hood, because now, she was attracting a lot of attention. Finally, Ratchet had pointed to a seedy looking tavern at the end of the row.  
  
"The best place to talk without being inturrupted," Ratchet explained. Raa'chel apprehensively followed the man inside the bar.  
  
Inside the bar, it was smoky and hard to see. Once Raa'chel's vision had adjusted to the darkness, she could make out that fact that this bar was patronized by more than just humans. There, she recognized, was a Klatoonian. At the bar, a pair of Weequay. Three Duros talked animatedly at a booth nearby. And finally, a shadowy figure regarded her and Ratchet as they passed.  
  
Ratchet led the Princess to a corner booth at the back of the bar. Ratchet plopped his considerabe girth down, and the princess sat tentatively beside him. Ratchet smiled a yellow, foul-smelling smile at her and said, "So, in need of a pilot, eh?"  
  
"Yes, and there's something else as well, I need-" It was then that Raa'chel noticed that Ratchet's hand had rested itself on Raa'chel's knee.  
  
Ratchet drew himself closer to her. Raa'chel knew what this man wanted. "Oh don't worry, sweetheart. Ol' Ratchet knows what you need." He stuck out his lips, and pulled Raa'chel forcefully to him with his other arm. Raa'chel let out a quick scream. "Stop! Stop it!" she yelled.  
  
"Call it payment for the trip, Marina. Be a good girl now." Ratchet's grip tightened around Raa'chel's shoulders, and she felt Ratchet's lips graze her neck.  
  
Suddenly, he stopped. Raa'chel felt his grip loosen. She opened her eyes and looked.  
  
Ratchet's face was frozen in fear, and he was staring off to Raa'chel's right. Raa'chel then noticed the red pinpoint of light on Ratchet's forehead. Following the beam back thru the smoke, she could see what Ratchet was so afraid of.  
  
Holding what was easily the largest hand-blaster Raa'chel (and Ratchet too, it seemed) had ever seen. The black weapon's targeting laser had Ratchet cold. Raa'chel looked up the black leather glove, past the ash-grey sleeve of her savior's longcoat. The muscular arm ended in a broad shoulder, and finally, Raa'chel saw his face.  
  
Several peircings ran thru the right eyebrow of the man's sharp green eyes. His forehead was knitted in anger, and Raa'chel saw the thin sneer that his lips were pursed into. A heavy stubble covered his square jaw, and Raa'chel could see another spike jutting thru the man's lower lip, a lebrets piercing. On his chest, he wore only a black leather vest, and underneath it, Raa'chel could see a tribalistic tattoo.  
  
Ratchet scuttled away from Raa'chel. The red pinpoint moved with him. Ratchet stood up and out of the booth to face the man in front of him. "This isn't your business, Jerjerrod," Ratchet said.  
  
The man, Jerjerrod's, voice came out in an almost- whisper. "I'm making it my business."  
  
Ratchet was dripping sweat now. His forehead glistened under the red light of the targeting laser. Ratchet was breathing quickly. It was then that she saw his hand edge toward his own blaster.  
  
"Don't go for it," Jerjerrod said.  
  
Ratchet drew in a sharp breath and pulled his blaster. Jerjerrod's finger squeezed the trigger. Ratchet didn't even have time to scream as he was shot back against the bar wall. With a sickening crunch, Ratchet collided with the wall headfirst. He slumped down along the wall, half missing his face.  
  
The bar immediately quieted. The patrons turned to look at Jerjerrod, though he did not look back. After a moment, the bar went back to its normal state of drinking and carousing. Apparently, the people were used to this sort of thing.  
  
Jerjerrod sighed, but his arm still held a bead on Ratchet's smoking body. Next to him, Raa'chel gasped. She had never seen someone gunned down like that before. Slowly, Jerjerrod lowered his sidearm. He took a look at Raa'chel and asked, "Did he hurt you?"  
  
Raa'chel didn't answer. She was staring at Jerjerrod as if someone could never do what he just did.  
  
"Are you alright, Princess?"  
  
That woke her up. "Yes. How did you-"  
  
Jerjerrod thumbed over his shoulder. Raa'chel edged herself out of the booth and looked. "On the wall, near the entrance," he pointed out. Raa'chel saw an electronic bulletin board on the wall, displaying her own face back to her. The caption underneath read, "Princess Raa'chel Kalaador. If seen, please report her whereabouts to the nearest Imperial Officer, so that she may be safely returned to her home. Do not attempt to apprehend, yourself. -Lord Sabre Von Rubin."  
  
Raa'chel leaned against the wall and turned her face back to Jerjerrod. "I'll never get out of here, now. My face is probably all over town," she said, mournfully.  
  
"It is," Jerjerrod replied, "and where exactly are you going?"  
  
Raa'chel paused. "Why should I tell you? You're no better than him," she said, motioning to Ratchet's limp form. Jerjerrod's face went from concerned to impassive.  
  
"Fine. Take your chances with the stormtroopers." With that, he turned from the princess and walked away.  
  
Raa'chel watched him leave. She suddenly felt very ashamed of how she just acted toward the man who saved her life. She made up her mind and ran to catch up with Jerjerrod. "Wait!"  
  
Jerjerrod turned back to her with an impatient look. "What is it now?" he said.  
  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" she sighed for a moment. "I mean, I-"  
  
Jerjerrod cut in, "I get it. Look, next time someone saves your ass you might try to be a little more grateful, and not call them murderers, in so many words. Got it?"  
  
Raa'chel nodded. Now she felt really awful. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jerjerrod. But if you could, please, direct me to a reputable captain-"  
  
"You already found one. And call me Ash."  
  
For the first time since meeting him, Raa'chel smiled. And for the first time, Ash smiled back. 


	5. The Corellia Star

CHAPTER 4: The Corellia Star  
  
Ash and Raa'chel proceeded from the tavern after Ash had paid the barkeep for the mess he'd made of Ratchet. Ash had cautioned Raa'chel to keep her blaster on her belt, as opposed to her pack. That way, the street predators knew not to mess with her, and if anyone spotted her, she'd be able to get her weapon quickly.  
  
Raa'chel was grateful for Ash. As it turned out, Ash was indeed a pilot. A freighter captain, to be exact. His ship was, as he described, "a real piece of work. The Corellia Star."  
  
"What a nice name for a ship," she thought. She had this image of a highly decorated ship, almost regal, like her.  
  
She was very disappaointed.  
  
The Corellia Star was an old YT-1210 freighter, and it certainly looked "highly decorated", if "decorated" meant scorch marks, graffiti, blaster holes, and micrometeorite pockmarks. In fact there was only one word to sum up the Corellia Star.  
  
"Trash!"  
  
Ash looked affronted. Raa'chel immediately closed her mouth. This was the man's livelihood after all.  
  
Ash then said, "Look, it's not exactly pretty, but she's paid for. And, there's a few extra features that'll make anyone think twice before they attack us. Like for instance, see that?" Ash pointed to a nasty looking gun turret on the roof of the ship. It looked a litle too large for the vessel, and Raa'chel was just about to say as such when Ash continued, "Imperial Turbolaser. Capital ship grade. Takes up a whole hell of a lot of energy, but punches a big hole in any local cruisers and gives Star Destroyers a few dents as well. Add to that a triple blaster battery under the cockpit for the starfighters, and extra shielding all around. Proton torpedo launcher concealed on the aft section for pursuing hostiles."  
  
He paused and looked at his ship as if surveying a work of art. Raa'chel couldn't see what he saw, but respected it all the same. Ash sighed and the went on, "You see, some captains pay for hyperdrive overhauls that don't work half the time. But I'd like to see the Falcon go up against the Star." Ash looked at the princess and saw her puzzled look.  
  
"Who are you talking about? The Falcon?" she asked.  
  
Ash cleared his throat and said, "Long story. Ready to disembark?"  
  
Raa'chel nodded and climbed aboard. The interior was a mess. It looked like someone had strewn food wrappers all over the entryway, the hallway, the kitchen; practically everywhere! It was something the Princess couldn't abide, royal courtesy or not.  
  
"Ash!" she called, "Do you always keep it covered in trash and half-eaten food?"  
  
"What?" Ash called from below her. "What are you- oh yea. That would be Kowe. Don't mind him, he's always been a slob." Ash walked on board himself and looked around the hallway. "Wow, he's been at it today! Kowe!" he called, "Come out and meet our passenger!"  
  
Suddenly, a door erupted at the end of the hallway. Half-tumbling, half-falling out of the open door (which appeared to lead to the head), came a short, furry creature. He couldn't have been anymore than three feet in height. Shaggy brown fur covered his body, and a crown of bones and feathers adorned his head. That might have made him intimadating on his homeworld, but his near resemblance of an overgrown teddy bear dispelled any of that here.  
  
Kowe chirruped, "Grunda, se kiatha."  
  
Raa'chel giggled when she looked into those big, button eyes of his. He was adorable, there was no doubts there. Ash folded his arms and said, "Been in the food preparation unit again, Kowe?"  
  
Kowe stood up and brushed himself off of the bits of food wrapper still clinging to his fur. "Hetha! Esch khardyo! Esch khardyo!" he yelped.  
  
Ash put up his hands in surrender and said, bemusedly, "Relax, old buddy. That's why I have my own food stores locked up, where you can't get at it. Now, Kowe, come over here and meet the Princess, Raa'chel Kalaador. And after that, start getting this bird up and running. We have a few light years to cover."  
  
With that, Ash headed off down the hallway, presumably to the cockpit to begin the preflight.  
  
Kowe dropped the last of his food wrappers and ran over to the Princess. He barely reached her stomach. He stuck out his furry paw and said, very slowly, "Pleased-tooooo-meet you!"  
  
Raa'chel laughed out loud. Kowe smiled up at her, his paw still outstretched. She took it and shook it vigourously. "Hello there, Kowe. Aren't you just adorable?" Raa'chel reached out and scratched behind Kowe's ear. Kowe seemed to enjoy that much more than the handshake, as he let out what was unmistakably, a low purr.  
  
Raa'chel called to Ash down the hall. "Where'd you find him? I don't think I've seen his species before, " she said, still stroking Kowe's ear.  
  
Ash called back, "I was hiding on this little forest moon of a planet called Endor. The planet's full of them, and I think they're called Ewoks. Anyway, I had pulled up stakes because an Imperial Star Destroyer had come out of hyperspace near the planet. I guess the Imps weren't looking for me, since they let me go when I know they scanned my ship."  
  
Ash paused for a moment. "What were they doing there?" he thought. "That moon wasn't good for anything, except hiding."  
  
Raa'chel's call broke him out of thoughts. "You still haven't explained him."  
  
"Oh yea. Well, after I went to lightspeed, I heard this noise coming from the kitchen. I checked it out, and there he was, eating my sugar treats. Came close to shooting him, cause I thought he might have been a predator," Ash continued.  
  
Raa'chel laughed, "Yea, some predator, aren't you?"  
  
Kowe continued to purr from the attention.  
  
Ash smiled and continued, "Anyway, I couldn't take him home, and he seemed to have a blast on my ship. Maybe he likes blinking lights, I dunno. So, I made him my first mate and gunner. He's a quick study too. Good with cooking, and a damn good shot. Here soon, he'll be learning the navigation controls. Speaking of which, I thought I told you start the preflight? Get to it, furball."  
  
Kowe brushed Raa'chel's hand away and called to the front of the ship, "Jespa ne chu!" He then walked to the gangplank and the left the ship. Raa'chel walked up to the cockpit and settled into the chair behind Ash as he made the preparations to leave Kalaador.  
  
"I'm really leaving," she thought, "I'll come back with help, Father. I promise."  
+  
+ ***  
+  
+ "Are you sure?"  
  
After several reports of blaster fire from this very establishment in the last week alone, Captain Jesko was unsure as to whether this latest report would yield anything positive. Still, this sort of smoky bar that he and his stormtrooper squad currently occupied would certainly be a good place to find a pilot, reputable or otherwise. He hoped Raa'chel Kalaador had thought along the same lines. Sure enough, their posters and the reward money of ten- thousand credits had paid off.  
  
The bartender replied, "Yea, I'm sure. He blasted Ratchet's face off, and took the girl you're looking for to his ship. Heard the whole conversation, I did."  
  
Captain Jesko breathed a sigh of relief. Soon, the princess would be back in their hands, and Lord Von Rubin would be pleased. "Where is this 'Ash Jerjerrod's' ship?"  
  
"Always parks in the same docking bay. Bay seventy- one," the bartender replied.  
  
"Thank you," the captain said, and turned to leave.  
  
"Ahem, my reward?" The bartender stretched out his palm.  
  
Jesko took a disgusted look at the bartender's outstretched palm and replied, "When we have the princess, you will be paid. Not before." He then motioned to his troops and they all filed out of the bar behind their captain. The captain picked up his comlink and activated it.  
  
"Squad Beta, come in."  
  
The comlink soon replied with the squad leader's voice, "Yessir?"  
  
"We have a report. Proceed to Docking Bay seventy-one and detain any ships and crew there until my arrival. Understood?"  
  
"Yessir! Beta, out."  
  
For the first time today, Jesko smiled under his helmet. Maybe he wouldn't be cleaning the Iron Hand's exhaust pipes for the next four-thousand seasons "Only a matter of time now," he thought.  
  
***  
  
Ash flipped a few switches on his console, and the engines began to hum. He looked out of the cockpit and flipped on the loudspeaker to tell Kowe to get aboard. It was then that he spotted the Imperial Stormtrooper squad entering his docking bay. "Oh, dammit! Kowe, get in here, now!"  
  
Kowe whirled around and spotted the stormtroopers moving toward the ship. "You there! Halt!" one of the troopers called to him, but Kowe turned and sprinted for the gangplank.  
  
"Fire!" the trooper ordered. The stromtroopers unleashed a barrage of blaster fire on the Corellia Star. Kowe yelped and ran for dear life, his padded feet finally carrying him up the gangplank. Once aboard, he yelled, "Go!"  
  
"Don't have to tell me twice," Ash thought. Grabbing the yoke, he pulled it back and the ship began to ascend out of the open-topped docking bay. Raa'chel began to lock herself into her seat as Kowe sprinted into the cockpit.  
  
"Shupa ne chago!" he yelped.  
  
"Yea, yea, just strap in, furball," Ash replied in a hurried tone.  
  
Kowe hopped his furry bulk into the copilot's seat and belted himself down. Raa'chel watched as the blue sky of Kalaador began to evaporate, and soon the cockpit was filled with stars. She felt a twinge of guilt leaving everyone behind, but she knew what she had to do.  
  
Suddenly a shrill beeping noise filled the cockpit. Kowe bent over a flashing display on the console in front of him. His eyes widened with fear and he turned to his concentrating captain. Jabbing at the display with his fuzzy forefinger, he said, "E yapa destroyah!"  
  
"Yea, she's closing on us fast. Damn!" Ash exlclaimed.  
  
"What is it?" Raa'chel asked.  
  
"She's deploying her fighters. Kowe, get on the gun! This could get ugly, Princess. Shields up!" Ash threw a few switches near his head, and Kowe had unbuckled himself and had scampered out the cockpit door.  
  
Kowe continued to rush down the hallway until he reached the gun turret. Quickly, he climbed up the ladder and heaved himself into the gunner's chair. He activated a few panels and the large turbolaser came online. A few more panels, and the point defense guns were also at his command. Kowe drew in a sharp breath as he read the TIE's closing in on them. He swung the point defense guns around and took aim.  
  
+ Kowe squeezed the trigger and launched a volley of  
blaster bolts at the TIE. The pilot wasn't quick enough  
on his dodge, and his unshielded ship exploded in a ball  
of green fire.  
  
In the cockpit, Ash and Raa'chel could hear the Ewok's yelp of triumph, and Ash confirmed the kill on his radar. "Good job, little buddy! Still three more!"  
  
Kowe refocused his energy on the guns as Ash continued to weave in and out of the TIE's weapons fire. A stray shot grazed the bow of the Star, and Ash cursed aloud. Kowe, desperate to make good his captain's escape, unleashed another volley on the closing TIEs. Kowe began to lead one of the fighters with his lasers, and finally caught the fighter on the starboard solar panel.  
  
The disabled TIE fighter careened dangerously out of control. Back and forth it swerved, until a cascade of energy coursed over the insectile craft, disentegrating it.  
  
Aboard the Star, the crew felt a sudden lurch. The ship shuddered for a moment, then resumed it's normal status. "What the hell was that?" Ash wondered aloud.  
  
Just then, a klaxon signaled the crew that the hyperdrive engines were ready to engage.  
  
"Hallelujah!" Ash whooped, "we're outta here!" Ash pushed the hyperdrive switch forward and the Corellia Star shot into hyperspace, away from Kalaador, and away from Sabre Von Rubin's wrath.  
  
***  
  
On the planet, in the throne room, Sabre Von Rubin watched the starship battle's progress with baited breath. Everything hinged on this. His plans would be for naught if she escaped him now.  
  
And then, just that happened.  
  
Sabre sunk back into his throne when the old freighter went to lightspeed. All was lost. Vader would most certainly kill him now.  
  
"Unless-"  
  
Sabre switched the holoreceiver to the captain's frequency. Captain Stavro's bloated face appeared on the screen. This man revolted Sabre. The captain of Sabre's command ship, the Iron Hand, was almost the size of an AT-AT walker, and he ate like a condemned Hutt. Worse, he didn't have the Hutt's ability to lead. "He will not be missed," Sabre mused.  
  
The captain flicked his bushy moustache when he saw who was communicating with him. Sabre could taste his fear from the planet. It was a wonderful sensation, fear. "Fear leads to anger", Sabre remembered, "anger leads to hate, hate leads to power." The code of the Dark Side lingered in his head for a moment. And to think, it almost never was.  
  
It had been many years since Vader found him, and made him into what he was today. "No," Sabre thought, "not Vader. Him."  
  
Sabre's thoughts drifted away to that lonely hut on the hill. The planet Soren was once Sabre's home, that much he remembered. He then remembered the man he called father.  
  
***  
  
"Mithrandir?"  
  
The old man looked up from his studies at his young pupil. The former Jedi master knew what was coming. His pupil, his second pupil, had always asked the same question.  
  
"Yes, my son?" he said with all the patience befitting a Jedi Master.  
  
"Why can't I move on in my studies? How is it that he-" the boy asked.  
  
Mithrandir put up a hand to silence his student. It was a shame that the boy continued to compare himself to Mithrandir's first student. He who had finished his studies and left Soren to make his way in the galaxy many months ago.  
  
Mithrandir gazed into the boy's ice-blue eyes. "Such potential," he thought, "A pity."  
  
"I told you, dear boy. You must learn control. He understood control, and therefore he advanced," Mithrandir explained, for whatever time this was for the subject.  
  
"But it's so hard to focus when I have his success over my head! There's too much to-"  
  
Suddenly, the door to the hut crashed inward. The student had returned, with death on his mind.  
  
***  
  
Sabre awoke from his trance. He looked at the holoprojector.  
  
During his repose, he had failed to notice that he had hemmorhaged Captain Stavro's brain with his command of the Force. The immense man lay dead on the Iron Hand's deck, blood and brain matter leaking from his nose. The next in command, Commander Daegon, stared blankly at his former superior's limp body.  
  
Without blinking, Von Rubin said, "You are hereby promoted, Daegon. Your first order is to increase the Princess' bounty to fifty-thousand credits. Then, track the freighter's telemetry." He leaned in at this pause, so that the newly appointed Captain Daegon couldn't miss his next words.  
  
"Let Stavro's incompetence speed your hand, Daegon. I want her found."  
  
Captain Daegon's life had just become a lot more complicated. 


	6. The Smuggler's Moon

CHAPTER 5: The Smuggler's Moon  
  
"Alright, what's going on here, Princess? This has a LOT more to do with than you just joyriding around the galaxy, or am I wrong?"  
  
Raa'chel shifted uncomfortably under Ash's reproving gaze. Ash had been under considerable distress since they had gone to lightspeed. The sudden lurch of the Corellia Star had turned out to be the impact of a TIE fighter's charred and smoking solar panel breaking apart and lodging itself into the hyperdrive section. This had the effect of causing a slow leak in the hyperdrive actuator.  
  
In short, the damage had brought the Star out of hyperdrive. When a Star Destroyer is chasing you, you do not want to be a sitting duck.  
  
Since then, Ash and Kowe had been hard at work trying to get the ship's engines back to stable. So it was immediately after Kowe had mistakenly shocked Ash with a power torch that Ash had cursed aloud, stopped work, and demanded the truth from Raa'chel.  
  
Raa'chel sighed heavily. This was going to be harder than she thought. The Rebels were outlaws after all, and she was certain Ash would turn her in once he knew what she was after.  
  
But then, he hadn't shown any loyalty to the Empire thus far. She had no choice but to trust him.  
  
She opened her mouth to reply when Kowe's furry head appeared from the maintenance pit, next to Ash's grease- stained one. He tapped Ash on the shoulder and chirped, "Scuda jeyut!" Ash replied by sighing heavily and saying, "Yea alright. I'm coming." Then both their heads disappeared under the deck grating.  
  
Raa'chel figured it was best to leave them to their work. She stood up, stretched, and decided to explore the ship.  
  
Her footsteps echoed down the dimly lighted hallways of the Corellia Star. She kept reflecting on how everything had changed in the past few months. These thoughts only served to depress her. She stopped her pacing while she was next to an open cabin door. Curiously, she opened the door and peered inside.  
  
It must have been the captain's quarters. It was significantly larger than her cabin, and yet it was sparsely furnished. Raa'chel looked around at the few items in here; Ash's longcoat hung from a hook on the far wall. A pitiful desk sat in the room, accompanied by an equally pitiful chair and computer. It was almost militaristic in furnishings, with almost no decoration, except-  
  
It was then that Raa'chel saw the holograph lying on Ash's bunk. She looked behind her and listened. Ash and Kowe were still working. Gingerly, she picked up the holograph and activated it. It was someone Raa'chel did not recognize. A woman, young and fair, stared back at her with deep grey eyes. Then the holographic lips began to move.  
  
"Ash," she said, "I needed to send you this." The woman paused; whatever this was, it was hard or her. "I'm sorry, but I can't wait any longer. It's been six months and I- I'm sorry, but I'm not going to wait for you anymore. I've found someone else. I am truly sorry, but I need someone who's not going to spend the rest of their life running from the Imperials. I need stability. And you can't give me that. I hope you understand. I love you."  
  
With that, the hologram disappeared.  
  
"Sedara."  
  
Raa'chel dropped the hologram in surpise and spun around. Ash stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. His face was set in a mask of stone. Raa'chel looked into his eyes. They looked lifeless.  
  
"What?" Raa'chel asked.  
  
Ash came into the room, bent down and picked up the hologram. "Her name is Sedara," Ash began. His eyes lingered for a moment on Sedara's last letter to him. He set the hologram down on his desk and turned back to Raa'chel. She looked positively embarassed about the situation. She was about to apologize when Ash spoke again.  
  
"Why were the Imperials after you?"  
  
Raa'chel closed her mouth again. He didn't want to hear an apology. "Alright. I'm trying to locate the Rebellion. I was hoping they'd be able to help me liberate Kalaador. I didn't want to tell you at first, because-"  
  
Ash put up his hand to stop her. "I know, you didn't trust me. That's unimportant."  
  
Ash paced the room for a moment. Raa'chel hoped inside that she was right to trust Ash. Finally he looked dead at her and said, "Hyperdrive's damaged pretty bad and we need parts. The closest system has an old friend of mine on it. It just so happens, that Timon's a Rebel," Ash then paused, and said, "among other things. I'll put you in touch with him."  
  
Raa'chel smiled again and said, "Thanks, Ash. I really appreciate all the help you and Kowe have given me." Raa'chel gestured to the holograph and added, "And, I'm sorry about going thru your things. It was rude of me."  
  
Ash replied, "Don't worry about it. Let's just get to Nar Shaadaa."  
  
+ * * *  
+  
+ Nar Shadaa was known as "The Smuggler's Moon." It  
orbited Nal Hutta, homeworld of the vile Hutt Crime Syndicate. A lot of unsavory characters frequented Nar Shadaa, making illegal trade runs or petitioning the local Hutt crimelord for a favor or two. This made Nar Shadaa very dangerous. But it did have an advantage. The Hutts did not welcome the Empire on its turf, and the Empire was content to allow the sluglike race its free hand in underworld politics and dealings.  
  
The Corellia Star flew its way thru the steel and glass maze of buildings that smothered Nar Shaadaa's landscape. Everywhere that Raa'chel looked from her seat in the cockpit, she saw a veritable garden of skyscrapers and starports. All around them flew airspeeder and starship traffic, all going to whatever activity (legal or otherwise), had bid them to the Vertical City.  
  
A com light flared on the Star's console. Ash flicked the switch into the "on" position.  
  
"This is Docking Control to incoming YT-1210 freighter. Please identify," the com officer said thru the transmitter.  
  
Ash pressed a few buttons on the overhead panel before responding, "Freighter Corellia Star requesting docking clearance for repairs. Captain Ash Jerjerrod speaking."  
  
"Request granted, Captain Jerjerrod. Please proceed to docking bay six-oh-four."  
  
Ash then switched off the com. He motioned to Kowe to find the correct docking bay on the navcomputer. It was then that Raa'chel had to ask, "What was Sedara waiting for?"  
  
Ash paused, and the looked to his Ewok companion. Kowe took one look at his captain's stony face and quickly turned his attention back to the navcomputer.  
  
Ash sighed heavily and said, "I was serving time on a labor world for smuggling. Sedara and I were planning our wedding when I was arrested. I asked her to wait for my year sentence to be up. She didn't."  
  
Raa'chel then understood why Ash was so secretive. He had been hurt before. She could certainly understand loss. "I'm sorry," she said.  
  
"It's not your fault," Ash said simply. He then turned back to his piloting duties.  
  
The Corellia Star approached docking bay six-oh-four and hovered over it. Slowly, the ship descended and extended her landing gear. With a soft thump, the Corellia Star had landed gently on Nar Shaadaa.  
  
***  
  
The soft squeak of the glass being cleaned by a soiled rag was just one of the many sounds that permeated the "Rimmer's Rest." A tavern/inn combination, the "Rest" was just one of the many private establishments on Nar Shaadaa, but unlike the many businesses that were swallowed up in this monument to progress, the "Rest" had flourished.  
  
The Rimmer's Rest had only one employee. His name was Elmer. The grizzled old man behind the bar hucked a wad of spit into the glass he was cleaning. His rough right hand and cybernetic left worked the filthy cloth over the glass and spit, shining the container to what Elmer must have believed was clean.  
  
A waft of greenish smoke drifted into Elmer's nostril from the end of the bar. Elmer began to choke on the hazy smoke and began a series of dry, hacking coughs. He looked up, following the trail of smoke back to it's owner. He was hard to make out in the smoke, but the red glow from the cigarillo clutched in his yellowing teeth made out a few harsh lines. They were battle scars.  
  
Still hacking, he choked out, "Drink, mister?"  
  
A sound like the tearing of sheetmetal emanated from the smoking specter. It took Elmer a moment to realize that this was the man's voice.  
  
"Whiskey."  
  
Elmer took a step back, and after a tense moment, reached for the glass he had been cleaning. He was the startled into dropping the glass on the floor when the man spoke again.  
  
"No, the whole bottle." 


End file.
